978-1-4964-4133-1

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RACHAEL DENHOLLANDERit just as she’d shown me, folding it precisely, checking my doll’s position onthe diaper, and inspecting the leg openings. Then I’d put my fingers betweenthe diaper and my doll, turn the fold over to make sure my fingers werein the right spot, take a deep breath, and push the pin through. And do youknow what? I never once poked my doll. Of course, every time I practiced,I felt a twinge of concern that I’d jab my finger with that pin. But I just keptreminding myself, The most important thing is to protect the baby. That’s my job.Five years later at McDonald’s, that instinct was every bit as strong.That’s my job.I scrambled down the slide as fast as I could, not even trying to avoidthe shock- inducing metal bolts, and ran over to the older boy. I reached mysiblings in record time, and without hesitating, grabbed the bully’s wrists.I pulled him away from my siblings and held my arms stiff to keep my bodyaway from his swinging foot. He glared at me and tried to free his wrists, yellingfor me to let go. I took a deep breath and quietly held on. I didn’t strikeback; I just felt fiercely protective and resolved. I made sure to look the boysquarely in the eyes as I spoke firmly and calmly.“Stop. You’re hurting them, and you’re old enough to know better. If youtry to hurt anyone again, I’ll go find a grown- up.”He tried to fight back. I held on.“Stop,” I repeated. “You’re old enough to know better.”Angrily he paused and then grunted a defiant “Fine.”My siblings were now out of reach, so I let go and the boy stomped away.My mom and the mother of our friends, who had looked up from their tableoutside the play area to see me holding the boy’s wrists, made it to the doorand popped their heads in.“Is everything okay?” my mother called out.I glanced over my shoulder at the boy, now sulking in the distance.“We’re fine,” I assured her.We went back to playing, and I was filled with relief. My siblings weren’thurt. I’d done my job. I had used what I’d been given— my age, my strength,and my words— to protect them.I knew what to do that day because I’d been explicitly taught that youalways have a right to defend yourself and others. My parents even gave me3
WHAT IS A GIRL WORTH?specific guidelines for what speaking up should look like and had me practice,so if I ever did need to speak up, I would know exactly what to do and say.“You always have a right to defend yourself and others,” they had said,“but never ever lash out in anger. Don’t become what you are fighting. Doonly what is necessary to keep everyone safe.”In other words, my motivation needed to be love—not anger, notrevenge— which meant doing only what was necessary to restrain without adesire to harm the other person.They also taught me that often kids who act out are angry and hurting, soit was important to feel compassion for them too. They told me to tell bulliesthe truth and remind them that they could, and should, be better— that theywere responsible for their choices. And they told me to seek the help of anauthority figure rather than angrily mete out my own form of justice.• • •Given these early lessons from my parents— as well as the fact that I wasincredibly stubborn and argumentative if I felt I was in the right— I don’tthink my mom and dad were surprised when, at age eight, I announced thatI wanted to become an attorney someday so I could protect families andchildren. I drew up my first “contract” not long afterward.I had determined one afternoon that my mother was spending too muchtime on the phone helping a friend through a crisis and not enough time helpingme with my math homework. I vividly remember my frustration. I knewher discussions were important, but goodness, if she expected me to do mymath, she had to hold up her end of the bargain! We simply had to have someconcrete, definable boundaries in this household. So in exasperation, I founda piece of paper and a pencil and sat down to fix this problem. Righteousindignation burning within me, I drew up a contract. I outlined an agreementin which she would pledge to spend a specified, limited amount of time on thephone and a required amount of time helping me with my math. In exchange,I would complete my lessons. Then I drew two lines at the bottom— a placefor each of us to sign— and brought it to her. I got my point across. In thefuture, my math lessons were completed in a timely manner, and my parentscontinued to opine that law was a natural career choice for me.4
Page 2 and 3: Rachael Denhollander is a hero. She
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